WHERE THERE'S A WILL...

Mr Edmund Stanley looked over at his solicitor and smiled. He drew on his cigarette and laughed quietly but with mirth. Raising the hand that held the cigarette above his brow, he scratched gently, heedless of the smoke, intent on conveying a message, that could not be misinterpreted.

“Well, that ought to do it, Sam. I’m glad you didn’t try to persuade me to relent on my gut feelings. Olivia would be horrified were she still on this earth. Still, there is nothing to stop me allocating my assets the way I please.” he drew on the cigarette throwing his head up and watched the smoke curls fade as they rose to the ceiling, then looked back at the man opposite, as though awaiting confirmation.

“That is right old chap, though I am often unnerved when asked to read this kind of will out.” then he too laughed “I’ve thought of something, Ted. What if we made a film clip and a backup tape, of your telling them about your ‘Last Will and Testament?” he said pointing at the Grundig reel to reel recorder and the home movie camera of the forties, that someone had ‘carelessly’ left in his office.

All we would need is for my presence on the appointed day to clarify…”

Edmund laughed slapping his knee with gusto. He looked at Sam with a gleam to his cold grey eyes.

“Yes, let’s do that, Sam. I assume there will be a charge for hiring the equipment? All the better; I will be in touch as soon as I check the diary. Well, Toodle pip, old chap.” he said shaking hands. “Thank you I’m almost sorry I won’t be there to see their faces.”

Sam watched him go with a smile. Only Edmund Stanley could get away with this plan. However, no one had any idea how soon it would be before the said Edmund Stanley had to face his maker.

On the appointed day a week after Mr Stanley died and the funeral held, all arrangements for devices were set up under the watchful eye of no greater a person than Miss Daisy Arbuthnot. She expected nothing less than all hell breaking loose. The house was officially in mourning. The family was assembled in the drawing room; well dressed, though some looked bored, others despite their attempts to convey to the contrary, waited eagerly to hear the news. With the exception of two children in the corner quietly drawing, the actions of the family looked like something Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot would join; quietly discern the characters, and act accordingly with calculated charm. Alas it was not Monsieur Poirot, but Miss Arbuthnot, the youngest member of the Law Firm Arbuthnot, McKenna and Arbuthnot who entered the room again; cast a cursory glance on the mechanical side of the arrangements, and watched the family, trying to work out why these gadgets invaded the sanctity of the drawing room . Contrary to expectations, though young, Miss Arbuthnot was no fool. Her matronly figure, combined with her French roll hairstyle and her adequate but not overstated makeup made her look something like a school principal, which she often used to her advantage, particularly in situations like this.

Samuel Arbuthnot had been the family lawyer for decades; however, he had been quite ill and at the last-minute, Miss Arbuthnot was coerced into overseeing the instructions regarding the last will and testament of the family patriarch. Mr. Stanley, though originally a humble accountant with dreams of having his own business, was his cousin’s heir to the vast estate of Sparrow House and its one thousand acres of farmland, now tenanted. In his time, he had maintained a beautiful property by fair means or fowl, and as a result his sons and sons in law worked with him, or rather feigned a somewhat obsequious manner to keep the peace, for the sake of the family inheritance.

Edmund had met Olivia Mather soon after inheriting Sparrow House, and their arranged marriage suited them, though indeed they were fond of each other. They had four children, but as arthritis and old age beckoned, Edmund became irascible, and though some of the family lived close by, apart from special occasions, visits to the manor became more infrequent. Still, they were chips off the old block as it were; tough, and unpredictable, and did not go unnoticed by the patriarch.

Miss Arbuthnot spent very little time on pleasantries, though she did concede that were afternoon tea served, it might break any ice in the room.   Seated comfortably on a chair by the window, where she could use a lovely day table, whilst still being able to view proceedings, she waited until everyone including the children had made their choices and cleared her throat rather loudly, to move things along.

“Ladies and Gentlemen if we could get on please. Choose your seat carefully as there will be a short presentation hence the electrical equipment. I have instructed the maids to leave food on the identical table to this one, should you require further sustenance.”

The elder son, Charles, motioned that he wished to speak.

“Go ahead, Mr Stanley.”

“That is Lord Sparrow, now I believe.”

“Yes, quite. You wished to say something?”

Charles was most put out, but continued regardless.

“I…that is we, would like to know why Mr Arbuthnot who has seen to our legal matters for nigh on twenty years is not here today, presiding over the reading of our father’s will.”

Daisy smiled. Looking at each of the adults in turn, she answered Charles’ question as pleasantly as possible.

“I quite understand your concerns, however Mr Arbuthnot has recently been hospitalised and is recovering …”

“Yes, we know that, you foolish woman. Why couldn’t Mr McKenna have visited in his place, with the requirements?”

“Oh, I see your predicament, Sir. There is no Mr McKenna, there is a Miss McKenna, who uses her maiden name professionally. Would you care to deal with my mother who is as equally qualified as I?”

Charles sat down, flabbergasted. ‘The nerve of the woman, and her mother? Good grief, what is the world coming to…female lawyers, indeed.’

The butler came in quietly and soon the image of Mr Stanley appeared on the wall. Almost immediately the audience was drawn to what was in store, even the children Jane and Henry, left what they were doing on the floor to sit beside the others.

Edmund Stanley was filmed seated at his desk in the study; dressed well, in his favourite tweeds, with the inevitable glass of whisky, and packet of cigarettes at his elbow, looked at them smiling. It was just as unnerving to watch him here, as it was at serious family gatherings; his sardonic smile and grey eyes hinted nothing.

“Hullo folks, or might I say scavengers for indeed you are that. It was Sam Arbuthnot’s idea to do this film clip with taped back up. I hope he is chuckling at the sight of you dreaming of what the old boy has dished out. You are a bunch of pretenders, with the exception of the delightful Jane and Henry. You see at their age their innocence has not been spoiled by greed.” Edmund took a slug of whisky “so here it is the last will and testament of Edmund Jeremiah Stanley, as at Wednesday June 14th 1950 which revokes all other wills.” Another slug and some unknown person appearing to refill the glass.

“To my delightful grandchildren Jane Alison Morris and Henry Edmund Richards, I bequeath the two Monet paintings, in the library, which are not copies as I had you believe, plus a sum each of 10,000 pounds Stirling, to be reinvested and received upon their 21^st birthdays.  They may not appreciate Monet, perhaps, if it is absolutely necessary, one could be sold, I say sold not taken; that should ensure they get a decent education, should you as parents be unable to give them that. All in all, they should be set for life."

"To my daughters, Abigail Stanley Morris and Olivia Stanley Richards, I bequeath the dowager cottage and the head butler cottage respectively on the condition that they learn to keep house, cook and be proper mother or aunt figures respectively to Jane Alison Morris and her cousin, Henry Edmund Richards. My two daughters treat the servants abysmally, criticising their slightest error, making no allowance for fatigue, ill health or... Rather than criticising, do their work or find work and purchase your own homes. Those are the conditions, my dears, like it or lump it.

Likewise, to my sons in law, Joseph Morris and Alan Richards you will both work in the office at your fair wage nothing more, although you may divide the many sets cufflinks between you. Your automobiles are paid for. To my second eldest son Patrick John Stanley, I bequeath your fair share of hard work daily for your pay, or you can find somewhere else to work. You have always loved gardening there is a new compete set of gardening tools in the far garage, I bequeath these to you along with the head gardener’s cottage. As you remained a bachelor, you fool, you can work hard for your cash, as I did all my life. Should you find yourself a wife, make sure she has a princely sum to bring to your nest.

Now for my eldest child and elder son Charles Edmund Stanley. If I were in the room with you now, I would know that you expect to be called Lord Sparrow. This title was revoked, a decision made thirty years ago, actioned by Parliament and with the royal assent of  His Majesty George V, for reasons unknown to me. I inherited the property soon after, but not the peerage.  I therefore never was a Lord, nor will you be. I will however discuss your inheritance in a moment.” another slug of whisky.

"In the last two years I have invested money in a local bakery two miles from our home. About this time, I went on an errand, felt unwell and was looked after, by Mr and Mrs Smythe; they took care of me in their humble dwelling. They would not take any money from me because they thought I was one of the locals and as such would have to feed my family. In appreciation of their kindness and generosity, I took financial responsibility for their business, and now bequeath Sparrow House to Peter and Mabel Smythe and their children.  You see Charles you did not have to ape me the old devil that I became, you had a choice. Instead of being generous and kind like your mother, you chose to be difficult, irascible and pompous. Therefore, the old will is altered.   Mr Arbuthnot or may his daughter will advise the nitty gritty of the arrangements. The home behind the bakery is being renovated for your use.  None of you are out on your ear you simply have to work hard, for labour has its own reward.

You are thinking about the Rolls Royce and the Daimler. They are no longer mine having been sold to renovate the homes you have inherited now that I have left this earth. Your mother, God bless her would have agreed. If any of you are thinking of contesting the will, don’t bother unless you wish to be out on your ear. I think that wraps it up. Have a good life as paupers it will do you good. Toodle pip.”

The film clip over Miss Arbuthnot looked at the family resembling stunned mullets in their shock.

“Are there any questions?” she asked with as straight a face as she could muster.